the flicker of a candle blown

Lena

and sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm

Lena smiled at her sister’s concern, a fabricated touch of nothingness resounding, soft whispers, reassuring. “Only a few scratches,” and she winked, indicating naught of whatever had launched and lacerated at her flesh. It could be easily mended with a little time, and the youth was far more concerned with their priest. “You?” She thought she’d seen Sera come out fit and ready for whatever battle had laid ahead – but no one could ever be too certain. But her sibling’s suggestion of water was a grand one, and she followed her movements and motions, until her attention could dissipate back to Gideon.

“No need,” came on a hushed notation at him trying to stand – one hand instinctually reaching forward to either pacify, comfort, or offer a grasping hold while he struggled. Uncertain if he’d want it or not, it retreated, folding back over the bandages, unrolling the meager remains. His statements were enigmatic at best though, and she couldn’t help the question that pulled and tugged on the back of her mind (after all – why had they all been summoned there? What had gone on before?). “What do you mean?” Another quiet fortitude, unassuming and petalsoft, rendered on the tip of her gracious head, on the worried, furrowed brows colliding into her features.

that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm